How to Win the Heart of a Poet
by drama-princess
Summary: With the help of the Duke of Monrath, Satine Claudel has flown away from the Moulin Rouge and into the theatre world of England. In the past few years, she's thought of nothing but stages and jewels, but love will have its way. . . chapter 11 up!
1. Prologue: A Different Beginning

How to Win the Heart of a Poet  
  


Prologue: A Different Beginning  
  
You'll end up wasting your life at the Moulin Rouge with a can-can dancer! Chrisian's father's voice bellowed. Christian sighed deeply.   
  
Father, I have to write, he said, desperately trying to keep his voice calm. I have to-- it's just in me to do so. His father exhaled deeply, taking all the rage out of his voice and leaving him looking like a very old man. His shoulders slumped as he looked at his son.   
  
Christian, my boy, you're my only son. Is it asking too much for you to stay here where you belong? Christian only shook his head silently. He had to become a writer. The passion for words flowed alongside blood in his veins. He belonged to the divinely ordinated group of poets. His father leaned his head against the mantelpiece.   
  
What if you stayed in England and wrote? he asked begrudgingly. Christian's head lifted up at that and he stared slack jawed at his father.   
  
You don't mean--?  
  
Stay here, his father said, every word coming out with considerable relucatance. And your mother and I will do everything in our power to assist you.   
  
Christian paused. A negative affirmation danced on his lips, but he hesitated beofore voicing it. The lure of the Bohemian promises were strong, but. . . something in his father's countenance spoke of pleading. He was getting old, and Mother was a fragile creature. His only sister, Margaret, was shy and timid, preferring to help silently rather than speak. His family needed him. And Christian needed to write. After all, he asked himself reasonably, couldn't he be a child of the revolution in England a well as France?   
  
All right, Father, Christian said, rising and extending his hand. Thank you. . . I know you don't like my writing. Christian's father gripped his hand tightly.   
  
We need you here, Christian, he said simply. His face seemed grey and tired, and Christian wondered that he hadn't noticed it before.   
  
Then I'll stay, Father. Then I'll stay. Christian's father pressed his son's hand tightly, and the tension in the room dissolved to a bare minimum.   
  
In that coveted village in Paris, the famed courtesan of the Moulin Rouge slid over to a private box and smiled seductively at the occupant.   
  
I believe you were expecting me? she asked breathily, taking comfort in his obvious interest in her charms. He wasn't horrible looking, either-- his face was too narrow, and his teeth-- but Satine had been through worse. And whatever he might be lacking in personal attributes, he more than made up for it in the financial department.   
  
Yes . . . the Duke said, his nasal voice dripping with lust. I am.   
  
~-~-~  
Author's Note: All the characters of Moulin Rouge belong to their respective owners. However, should Christian ever become public domain, he is mine! :evil grin: Please review and let me know what you think! (This is just the prologue, so it's particularly short. The rest of the chapters should be longer)   
  
On a side note, the sequel to The Price of Love is coming! I've written about half of the first chapter and I've blocked out most of the story. Exciting things are happening. :D


	2. Home

Chapter I: Home  
  
What does it say? Oh, Christian, please read it! At the breakfast table in the Everett's comfortable, middle-class home, sat the entire family, waiting for Christian to open the letter from the theatre to which he'd submitted his work. Christian looked up at his sister and grinned.   
  
Here it goes. . . he said dramatically, and slid the paper knife through the envelope. Silently he skimmed the letter, raising his eyebrows at one part. Everyone else was waiting in a suspended state of waiting. After a minute or so, Christian put the letter down and thoughtfully began to eat his eggs.   
  
Margaret shrieked, her normally tranquil disposition vanishing with the excitement. Tell us! Christian tried to hide his smile, but he put the letter down and let his happiness shine out.   
  
They've accepted my play, he said, the satisfaction of it coming through in his voice. And they want me to come to London to be the artistic advisor to it. Margaret clapped her hands, Mrs. Everett smiled warmly, and even Christian's father looked a little less grim than usual.   
  
Wonderful, Christian, his mother said gently, taking a sip of water. I'm very proud of you.   
  
Do they know who's going to be in the play? his father asked, betraying his interest despite his air of intense concentration on his breakfast. Christian picked up the letter again.   
  
They say they're hoping to get this French actress. . . Satine Claudel is her name.   
  
Satine Claudel. . . his mother mused, passing his father the bacon. Isn't that . . .   
  
Who, Mother? Christian asked curiously. His mother frowned slightly, trying to remember.   
  
I think I've heard that name before. She hesitated, then shook her head. Ah, well, if it's important, I'm sure it will come to me.   
  
When are you leaving for London? Margaret asked. Christian shrugged and took another bite.   
  
Soon, I suppose. Whenever I can first get a train ticket.   
  
Eat your breakfast, Margaret, Mr. Everett said, characteristically closing the subject. Meanwhile, in France, a different exchange was taking place over breakfast. . .  
  
To London, then, my dear Satine? The Duke of Monrath glanced up from the letter that Satine had handed him. Satine nodded and took a dainty bite of her food.   
  
It's a lovely theatre-- I did not expect them to honor me with a lead role for quite some time.   
  
Ah, but I did! the Duke cried, straightening his tie as he finished his breakfast. A star, Satine!   
  
All thanks to you, my dear Duke, she said, outwardly fawning over the man while her thoughts had already skipped ahead to what gowns she would pack. The Duke looked pleased and drew out a large bundle of francs.   
  
Go shopping today, my sweet. Satine's face did light up at that.   
  
Will you be able to accompany me? she asked sweetly, crossing her fingers under the table for a negative.   
  
Satine's fingers were in luck. The Duke shook his head regretfully as he signaled for his manservant.   
  
No, my dear. I have business all this morning. Take care, my dear Satine. He bent over her hand and she smiled brightly at him.   
  
Till tonight, my dear Duke, she said, infusing her voice with just enough longing and regret that he couldn't come with her. As soon as the door closed behind him, Satine threw her napkin down and stood up. She smiled, pleased with this turn of events. This was going to be fun.   
  
Several hours later, Satine flounced out of the milliners, her servant following her with an assortment of boxes and bags. She leaned back in the car as it moved back to the Duke's elegant townhouse and sighed. Satine had been troubled by a vague feeling of discontent lately. She couldn't explain why-- she in the very lap of luxury, petted and cosseted by the Duke who indulged her every whim and brought her under the bright lights of stardom. She had several servants, an enormous wardrobe, diamonds, furs, an automobile forever at her disposal . . . and all in exchange for her company. It was all Satine had ever wanted-- to fly away from the poverty of the Moulin Rouge into fame and fortune. It was all anyone could ask for. . . .and yet, still she wasn't completely happy. Something ate away at her. . . like the sideways glances of the cast at the theatre. Satine flinched as she remembered a conversation she'd overheard during the rehearsal of her last show.   
  
Mademoiselle Satine is beautiful . . . a chorus girl sighed, leaning over the edge of the railing. I wish I looked like that. . . and that I could sing like she does.   
  
Even if you did, you'd need something more to be the star, the sarcastic, cutting voice of another chorus member said to her. The younger girl turned to her friend in some confusion.   
  
What do you mean, Nicole? Satine turned pale from where she stood in the shadows.   
  
What do I mean? Nicole's voice was edgy with jealousy and lit up with the idea of some good gossip. You know that Duke that's always with her?   
  
the girl said hesitantly. I think he's very much in love with her. He's her patron, isn't he? Nicole snorted.   
  
Oh, he's in love with her. . . he should be, by the way I hear he crawls into her bed each night! Nicole's friend gasped audibly.   
  
You don't mean that. . .?   
  
Yes, I do. Guess our precious little Mademoiselle Satine isn't good enough to make it on her own without some help. . .   
  
But that's so sad. . . the other girl murmured.   
  
Darling, that's life. Besides, she added, seeing the girl's stricken face. Everyone who's anyone does it.   
  
They shouldn't have to, though, the girl said as Nicole sauntered off. Poor Mademoiselle Satine. . .   
  
The car jostled over a bump in the road, bringing Satine back to the present. She fingered her diamond bracelet and bit her lower lip.   
  
We're home, Mademoiselle, her driver said, opening the door for her. Satine looked up at the imposing facade and nodded.   
  
Thank you, she whispered. She walked out of the car, leaving her glittering packages for the servant to pick up.   
  
she whispered. The servant who took her hat and wraps looked at her quizzically.   
  
Satine shook her head.   
  
Nothing. I. . . I'm going to my rooms for some time. I don't feel well, so please don't disturb me. . . unless the Duke comes, she added as an afterthought. Satine hurried up the grand staircase and sank into the armchair in her dainty sitting room.   
  
A bird in a gilded cage. . . the saying echoed through her head. Could it be that she'd flown away to only to find herself in a different cage? Satine stood and walked over to the window. She could see the beautifully manicured gardens laid out below her and blinked back tears. As if speaking from her soul, she began to sing softly.  
  
_Is this home?   
Is this where I should learn to be happy?  
Never dreamed  
That a home could be dark and cold. . .  
I believed  
Every day in my childhood  
Even when we grow old  
Home will be where the heart is   
Never were words so true  
My heart's far, far away  
Home is too.   
  
_Satine reached out towards the cold glass, her fingers trembling as she touched her reflection. She had always thought that when she was taken care of, she would be happy. When she didn't have to fight for every meal, life would transform into a beautiful thing. . . and she would be home. Her heart never got involved because her body was always fighting a battle to survive. But now. . .  
  
_Is this home?  
Is this what I must learn to believe in?  
Try to find  
Something good in this tragic place  
Just in case  
I should stay here forever  
Held in this empty space. . .   
  
_Satine shivered. Stay here forever? Surrounded by her empty possessions, living with a man she could neither respect nor love. . . but this was her life. She had chosen it with both of her eyes open. Satine tried to tell herself that this was her home. . . but she couldn't.  
  
_Oh, but that won't be easy  
I know the reason why  
My heart's far, far away  
Home's a lie. _  
  
For a moment, she almost wished herself back in the Moulin Rouge, where the future always sang with its luring voice to her, asking her to fly away to where she belonged. Then she had always known what she wanted. Now. . . she didn't know.   
  
_What I'd give to return  
To the life that I knew lately  
But I know that I can't  
Solve my problems going back. . .   
  
_Satine opened the window and sang out to the gentle winds that spun by her window, willing her voice to carry on the springtime breeze to wherever her heart was meant to be.  
  
_Is this home?  
Am I here for a day or forever?  
Shut away  
From the world until who knows when. . .   
  
_Satine caught a glimpse of the windmill and stared out towards the Moulin Rouge. She remembered singing her fears out when she was staying in the elephant. . . how she'd wanted to fly away to a different place, a better place.  
  
_Oh, but then  
As my life has been altered once  
It can change again.   
  
_The Duke couldn't keep her from flying away. Harold hadn't been able to. . . she could always escape to the place where she was meant to be. . . to the place where her heart had already escaped to.   
  
_Build higher walls around me  
Change every lock and key  
Nothing lasts  
Nothing holds  
All of me. . .  
  
_Satine slowly closed the window and sang to herself. _  
  
My heart's far, far away  
Home and free. . .   
  
_Her sweet soprano voice resonated through the empty room, and Satine felt the strangest flicker of hope. It was almost as if her soul knew what her mind could not. . .and that the most beautiful gift her life could give her was about to be revealed. _  
  
_~-~-  
Author's Note: I belong neither characters nor songs. Pity.   
  
Reviews are always appreciated! Thanks to everyone who's reviewed me! :)  
  
Songs used:  
-- Beauty and the Beast (Broadway version) 


	3. The Read Through

Chapter II: The Read Through  
  
Clara, Satine's personal maid, stood back and smiled, pleased at her masterpiece. Satine opened her eyes and glanced up and at her reflection. Her hair was perfectly arranged on her head, albeit a distracting curl that dangled near her ear. Satine twisted in her chair and smiled up at the black-haired woman.   
  
Satine said, brushing some rouge on while Clara brought out her pearl choker. Let me see. She held the jewels near her rich brown suit. It was just the right shade that brought out the auburn tints in her hair. Satine exhaled deeply, as if trying to dispel her nervousness while Clara fussed with the clasp.   
  
Clara said, handing Satine her fur stole. Have a good day, Miss Satine.   
  
Thank you, she replied, smiling at the girl as she left. As the door swung shut, Satine turned back to the mirror with a sigh. She did look beautiful . . . but the face in the mirror seemed so foreign, so painted. It seemed to belong to another woman. Someone who was wonderful. Not the real Satine.   
  
Satine! My dear! the Duke called impatiently from downstairs. Satine shook her head to banish any doubting thoughts and automatically stood upon hearing his call.   
  
Coming, dear Duke!   
  
How to Win the Heart of a Poet, the Duke sniffed on their way there. I do hope it's not some silly love story. And I wish they'd been able to send us a script. Really, if they manage all their business like this. . .   
  
I'm sure everything will be fine, Satine said absently, playing with her white satin gloves.   
  
Yes, yes, I suppose, the Duke sputtered. But really!   
  
Satine ignored him as they approached the magnificent theatre. London. And she was really here.   
  
Christian nervously tugged at his starched caravat as they waited for the actors to arrive. He felt like a little boy in his Sunday best, waiting to make a speech in his class. A pretty girl with long, brown hair and icy blue eyes smiled at him, her heart-shaped face lighting up as she did so.   
  
she said softly. I'm Rose Woodhouse. Christian awkwardly extended his hand.   
  
Uh, hello. I'm-- Christian Everett. The girl laughed quietly.   
  
So I believed, the girl replied, tossing her head so her hair was illuminated by the morning sunlight. Christian studied her for a moment longer. It almost looked like her hair was tinted with gold when she did that. He blushed slightly when she sent him a coquettish look.   
  
I'm sorry, he laughed, anxious to make a good impression. Pleased to meet you, Miss Woodhouse.   
  
And I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Everett.   
  
he said, glad to have found one person he could talk to in this room. Call me Christian. Rose smiled slowly.  
  
In which case, you must call me Rose. Christian was about to speak when the door opened and everyone in the room stopped their quiet conversations.   
  
Who is this? he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.   
  
The lead actress, Rose whispered back. Mademoiselle Claudel. There was a small sneer on her face, but Christian missed it as he stared towards the door, all his old worry rushing back to trouble him. A large, bald man entered first and sent a baleful glance around the room, soon followed by a smaller man with the small, ratty mustache. And then-- _she_ entered.   
  
Her perfume floated in a half second before her, filling the air with the sweetest floral scent Christian had ever smelled. But it was her face that captured Christian's heart in that brief, silent moment in which Rose Woodhouse's everyday prettiness faded like a star in the wake of sunrise. There was a sort of unexpressed tenderness in that face, as if she was the sort of woman who could love deeply and passionately, but never had. The soft curve of cheek and mouth was adorable, and a small ringlet tempted the casual admirer to look a little closer. Sadness lingered a little about the eyes, and the set of her chin spoke determination. She was wonderful.   
  
Rose hissed next to him, and Christian realized that he was staring. He quickly focused his gaze on a very ugly rug beneath his feet. The director was making hurried introductions.   
  
Rose Woodhouse, who will be playing the character of Blanche. . . and our writer, Christian Everett.   
  
Satine turned to the young man disinterestedly, but as she caught sight of his embarrassed expression, she smiled slightly. The poor boy looked exactly as she felt. She couldn't see his face, but she could imagine it. Young and homely, with muddy hazel eyes and teeth that slipped out just the tiniest bit. . . Just then, Christian raised his head and looked directly into Satine's eyes.   
  
She nearly gasped. Instead of the clever farmboy she'd been imagining, she saw a very handsome young man before her. His eyes were a soft, dreamy blue and there was a dimple in his chin. . . for a brief moment she imagined pressing her finger onto that dimple and smiling into his eyes. . .   
  
Satine frowned at herself. What on earth? Mooning over a boy that was at least two years her junior, probably four! Could she possibly be more ridiculous? Diverting her eyes from the writer, she glimpsed a hideously ugly rug on the floor. Yes, that would do nicely.   
  
We. . . have a small problem, one of the assistants spoke up timidly as he entered the room. Thankful for a new focus, both Satine and Christian turned around to stare fiercely at the interrupter. The young man looked as if he was about to faint.   
  
Yes, yes, what is it? The Duke demanded impatiently. The assistant swallowed.   
  
Mr. Jones. . . the lead actor. . . is ill today and cannot come.   
  
the director, Paul Day, asked sharply, his face turning a peculiar shade of purple. The boy stammered out his message once more and then fled to a comparatively safe corner of the room. There was a sort of stunned silence around the room for a moment.   
  
Well,we'll just have to find someone to read the part, Satine said sensibly.   
  
But where on earth are we going to find someone to read the role of the young English poet! Paul Day wailed. Every eye in the room turned onto Christian. . . except Satine, who was busy pretending to find the table absolutely fascinating. Christian grinned nervously.   
  
Well, then, he looked over at Rose for help, but she only shrugged.   
  
Don't be ridiculous, Satine said disdainfully fifteen minutes later.   
  
But-- all you need is love! Christian cried. His acting had left something to be desired in the first bit, but now that his heart rate had begun to return to some semblance of normalcy, he was filling the position quite well.   
  
You poets, Satine laughed. Always thinking up some silly rhyme or another.   
  
Silly rhyme? Christian shifted in his chair. It's not a silly rhyme.   
  
Oh, get up and act the song out, Mr. Day cried out. You know it, and all you have to do is react, Miss Claudel. Satine rose and put on her most expressionless face.   
  
I know-- I know it's not much-- but. . .but. . . it's the best I can do. . . Christian stammered out the lines until he finally got the courage to look up. Satine's eyes were fixed on him for a brief moment and Christian took a deep breath.   
  
_My gift is my song  
And this one's for you. . .   
  
_Everyone in the room unconsciously straightened up, and Rose leaned over the edge of her chair with interest dancing in her eyes. Satine stared at him in wonder. She'd never heard a voice like that. . .   
  
_And you can tell everybody  
That this is your song  
It may be quite simple, but  
Now that it's done,  
Hope you don't mind  
I hope you don't mind  
That I put down in words,  
  
_Christian caught Satine's eye again and she smiled mysteriously at him.  
  
_How wonderful life is  
Now you're in the world.  
  
_Christian walked over to the large window, forgetting that anyone was there but him and Satine. The world seemed to be suspended for his song. He was singing the song for her and her alone. Director, Duke, Rose, all gone. It was just him. . . him and Satine.  
  
_Sat on the roof  
And I kicked off the moss  
Well, some of these verses, well they, they got me quite cross  
But the sun's been kind while I wrote this song.   
  
_Christian finally turned back to Satine, who was shyly watching him from where she stood. He took a deep breath and sang the next lines to her while Rose sat and fumed with newfound jealousy.  
  
_It's for people like you that  
Keep it turned on!  
  
_Satine flushed faintly. If she'd been asked to explain her feelings at that moment, she couldn't have possibly succeeded. The world seemed to have been drenched in some kind of rosy light and was spinning around her. She felt as if she'd set a dainty foot down on the clouds and began to dance across them. What was this?   
  
_So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do  
You see, I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue!  
  
_His eyes were the most beautiful blue she'd ever seen. There was nothing deceitful in them . . nothing like anything she'd seen in the eyes of the men she'd kissed before.  
  
_But anyway, the thing is,  
What I really mean  
Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen!   
  
_Christian took her in his arms and began to spin with her. Satine felt the world sing with him, filling her ears with the most perfect music she'd ever heard.  
  
_And you can tell everybody  
That this is your song  
It may be quite simple, but now that it's done  
I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind  
That I put down in words  
How wonderful life is now you're in the world!   
  
_Christian traced her cheek shyly, afraid to really touch her. Almost as if she was something-- worth something.   
_  
I hope you don't mind,  
I hope you don't mind  
That I put down in words. . .   
  
_Christian took both her hands in his and she looked at him with wonder. She'd never had anyone touch her like that before.   
  
_How wonderful life is  
Now you're in the world. . .  
Hope you don't mind  
I hope you don't mind  
That I put down in words  
How wonderful life is  
Now you're in the world!  
  
_Christian picked her up and spun her around and around, until Satine felt like she'd sipped the most intoxicating wine anyone had ever poured into her cup. As he lowered her to the ground and she stared into her eyes, she knew then, no matter how she tried to deny it, life would never be the same again.   
  
~-~-  
Author's Note: Baz owns the movie characters, I own the story ones. Suing me will be a pointless exercise.   
  
Right now, this probably seems like Moulin Rouge put in a different setting. But it won't be-- I have many twists for our favorite characters on the way! Fear not! And remember-- one glass tells the truth. Too much of it lies. 


	4. Who I Am

Chapter III: Who I Am  
  
Well, that didn't exactly come off well, don't you think, Satine? There were quite a few problems. The Duke was involved in sorting through his letters while Satine sat wearily on a window seat.   
  
Satine asked, a little abruptly. She was tired from a day of trying to please everyone and-- although she wouldn't admit it-- trying to deal with her unsettled feelings.   
  
I mean, that writer was a terrible actor. You'd think he'd never been in love before! I could have read the part much better. Satine's smile was automatic, but she flinched inwardly. The idea of the Duke trying to sing like the young writer sent chills up her spine. She shifted uneasily, her fingers nervously playing with the lace on her dress. Perhaps she could plead exhaustion and headaches tonight. . .   
  
Oh, dear, the Duke glared at the offending piece of a paper. Ridiculous woman. Who does she think she is? Satine glanced up with interest. Very few things brought that tone into the Duke's voice.   
  
What is it, my dear?   
  
I'm being called away to spend some time in China with my _aunt_. His lip curled up as he spoke. Lady Adelaide du Pont. Satine looked out the window to hide her smile. There was a long-standing feud between Lady Adelaide and the Duke that stemmed from his aunt's holding a great deal of extra wealth in trust for him. Satine never understood why someoone so obviously wealthy as the Duke wanted more money, but. . . China?  
  
China, my dear Duke? Satine asked sweetly. Surely not. Some time away from the Duke-- well, any time away from the Duke would be welcome. She was tired of the endless role she had to play for him. Tired of smiling for him when she wanted to cry. . . tired of offering herself to him night after night. Where this sudden disgust had come from, she didn't know. But she knew it was there. Before, she had regarded the Duke with friendly indifference and strained patience at his stupidities. Now--  
  
I'm afraid so, Satine. Ignorant of her thoguhts, the Duke rose and scowled. Blasted woman! Satine swallowed her misgivings, rose, and trailed a hand down the Duke's shoulder and back, ignoring the physical repulsion he awoke in her. This was what she did. She was still the courtesan. . . always the courtesan, some part of her mind whipered rebeliously.   
  
How long does she, she breathed the next words into the Duke's ear seductively. Expect you to. . . stay? The Duke turned and looked her over with a leer.   
  
Six months at the least, he murmured, obviously concerned with other things.   
  
Satine said softly. she continued, brushing a hand over his hair.   
  
Yes. . .   
  
Satine buried her revulsion underneath her carefully cultivated facade. . . when, she wondered wearily, would she ever be able to just be herself? As the Duke led her into the bedroom, Satine admitted to herself that perhaps that day would never come.   
  
Afterwards, the Duke snored to himself in the bed while Satine stood, staring out at the night sky. The stars gleamed faintly behind the torn veil of the clouds, and the moon cast a pale, silvery light over the whole of London. She shivered, and drew her blue satin dressing gown closer.   
  
_How wonderful life is,  
Now you're in the world.   
  
_Satine shook her head sharply. The writer's voice had appeared unexpectedly appeared in her mind and for a moment, she almost imagined that she could see his boyish face before her.   
  
she whispered to herself, as if she was tasting the name.   
  
Why couldn't she stop thinking about him? A handsome face and a pretty voice with a lot of romantic nonsense in his head. As if she hadn't seen that a thousand times before at the Moulin Rouge.   
  
Not like this, an voice whispered softly to her.   
  
Be quiet, Satine replied silently, fuming at her softer side's sudden appearance.   
  
His are the sweetest eyes--  
  
Be quiet!   
  
The warring sides of Satine subsided, leaving her empty and alone. She blinked back the start of tears in her eyes. _  
  
_She cast a long look back at the sleeping Duke and buried her face in her hands. Would she die like this? Alone, so alone. . . friendless. . . she looked up and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window.   
  
_Look at me and tell me who I am  
Why I am-- what I am_  
_Call me a fool and it's true I am  
I don't know who I am.  
It's such a shame-- I'm such a sham  
No one knows who I am.   
  
_She'd been playing her roles for far too long. Always the actress, Satine reflected as she slowly walked across the room and into the hall. Would anyone ever know who she really was? Satine smiled sadly at the mirrors that hung along the hall. Would she ever know who she really was?   
  
_Once there were sweet possibilites  
I could see just for me  
Now all my dreams are just memories  
Fated never to be.   
  
_In her mind's eye, Satine saw herself as a young girl at the Moulin Rouge, watching the dancers with awe. The red-haired girl in her memory gripped the curtain tightly, her eyes narrowing with determination as she watched the grand finale of the show. Then the vision faded, replaced by an young woman sitting alone after a night with a customer. She sat in her corset and robe, staring dreamily at a newspaper. To be free. That was all she had ever desired.   
  
_Time's not a friend-- hurrying by  
I wonder. . . who am I?   
  
_Satine brushed the past away and stared fiercely into the mirror. Still beautiful, even in the depths of a lonely night. And yet, somehow, the face in the mirror. . .  
  
_Am I the face of the future?  
Am I the face of the past?  
Am I the one who must finish last?   
  
_Satine abruptly turned away. It would all end someday, and she would be left alone. Probably provided with a pension and a nice house by the sea. Someone's old whore, she thought, swallowing tears. The glitter and glamour would fade and leave her with the ashes of a brilliant career. . . and no future.   
  
_Look at me and tell me who I am  
Why I am-- what I am  
Will I survive-- who will give a damn  
If no one knows who I am?  
Nobody knows,  
Not even you  
No one knows who I am.   
  
_Satine closed her eyes briefly, then resolutely opened them. Walking purposefully back to bed, she slid underneath the covers and forced herself to listen to the Duke's breathing. And if there were tears in her eyes that night, she silently wiped them away without words.   
  
~-~-  
Author's Note: Christian, Satine, and the Duke are all used without permission as Baz owns them all. Reviews are lovely things.   
  
Songs used:   
Your Song--Elton John, but I consider it Christian's  
Who I Am--Jekyll and Hyde


	5. A Proposition

Chapter IV: A Proposition  
  
My dear! Satine! Satine sighed deeply and rolled over in bed.   
  
she asked sleepily, too tired to make her voice interested in what he had to say.   
  
Do you remember that young writer? Satine hugged her pillow close and willed herself not to throw it at the Duke's head. No, she'd absolutely forgotten the young writer. After all, he knew about her tendency to forget everything that hadn't happened five minutes ago.   
  
Yes, dear Duke.   
  
I had a wonderful idea last night. Why don't you make him fall in love with you? Satine sat up, suddenly awake.  
  
  
  
It's such a charming idea, isn't it? the Duke continued primly, clearly satisfied with himself. I'm sure you can do it, my sweet. Consider it a test of your acting. And what a good joke!   
  
But-- my dear Duke-- Satine floundered. Surely he'll-- he'll notice the difference between how I am around you and him--   
  
I already thought of that, beamed the Duke. I won't be here, so he won't have any real love to compare his to. Satine was unable to contain an incredulous eyebrow, but the Duke was luckily too involved with his tie to notice.   
  
I-- I don't know what--  
  
Nonsense, Satine, the Duke said firmly. It'll be wonderfully funny. As if someone like you could fall in love with him! Satine managed a weak laugh as the Duke rang the bell for the servant.   
  
Of-- of course. I'll just go. . . get dressed, then. As her bedroom door closed behind her, Satine flung herself onto the bed with a strangled cry. After a moment, she sat up and brushed herself off. She took a deep breath to steady herself.   
  
Won't be a problem, she said airily to the wall. Satine shook her head at herself. Somehow, she knew she was lying.   
  
~-~-  
Author's Note: I don't own Satine, the Duke, or Christian (pity bout that) I own everyone else, though.   
  
Sorry this chapter is so short, but do you really want to see more of Satine and the Duke together? I didn't think so. 


	6. In the Rain

Chapter V: In the Rain  
  
Christian was absorbed in carefully combing his hair. He watched his reflection anxiously for anything amiss, and then hurried back to his papers, checking them for the twentieth time. A flash of red caught his eye, and Christian whirled around to see a scarlet scarf fluttering in the breeze. Sitting down on his bed, he sighed and sang a little to himself.   
  
_How wonderful life is  
Now you're in the world. _  
  
I can't stop thinking about her, he said ruefully to the air. And I can't imagine that she's thinking about me.   
  
Was this love? This strange, dizzying feeling that left him breathless. He'd always dreamed about falling in love, but he'd never found anyone to love before. The other women he had met had all seemed . . . superficial, wrapped in conventions. But Satine. . . there was something about her that enchanted him.   
  
The clock chimed and Christian glanced up with a sigh. Maybe he'd go for a walk before work. . . the sky seemed to be a pleasant pearly gray. Just right for him to think.   
  
Satine found a thick chiffon veil and wrapped it about her hat. She wanted to be alone for a little while, and Warner was occupied with his breakfast. Satine allowed herself a momentary grin. Warner was forbidden from even entering the same house as Lady Adelaide, mostly because the last time he had been there, he had slipped in her dressing room. Satine privately thought he had been in the search of money, but Lady Adelaide had taken a different point of view, considering that he had seen her in a state of full undress. Satine was actually rather fond of the Duke's whimsical aunt. She had her oddities, but the woman was warm-hearted and outspoken. She reminded Satine a little of Harold Zidler.   
  
Satine slipped out through a side door and gave a soft breath of relief. Free. Now, if she remembered correctly, there was a lovely little park just a few streets away. . .   
  
Christian settled himself on a bench underneath some friendly conifers. He frowned and bent over his notebook. He had discovered this place shortly after arriving in London and had claimed it as his writing spot. It was tucked behind some upper-class townhouses, so it was rarely graced by the presence of another human being. A brook cut through a corner of the park and ran down to someone's garden. Christian took a deep breath.   
  
The smell of rain, he wrote carefully. He stopped and bit the end of his pencil. The smell of rain is in the air. . . it's a little bit fun-- oh, blast. Why couldn't he get her out of his head?   
  
Satine arrived at the park with a satisfied smile on her face and some hot buns and cream for breakfast. She took a cursory glance around the place to make sure she was alone, and then took a big bite of the bun. The sugared glaze melted in her mouth and left a delicate sheen of ivory around her mouth.   
  
she sighed, heading for her favorite spot beneath the pine trees.   
  
The sky is full of-- no, that's not right either. I dream of-- there might be some shaking--   
  
Satine stopped in shock as she saw the young writer sitting on her favorite bench. His jaw did the proverbial drop as Satine turned an unbecoming shade of red. Oh, this was wonderful. She was standing there, with her hat tucked under her arm, her face half-covered in sugar. . . and in the middle of all her embarrassment, she noticed he was still as handsome as ever.   
  
Mademoiselle Satine! Christian quickly shut his notebook and hid it underneath his hat. Pardon moi, je--  
  
No, no need to apologize-- Satine stopped as her brain caught up with her. He had spoken to her in French. She stared at him, her face softening as she did so. You speak French?   
  
The smile Satine gave him was genuine. Hearing her native language was always a delight, especially when it was coming from someone whose voice wasn't nasal.   
  
Oh, lovely. she glanced about them. Is this a favorite spot of yours?   
  
Yes. Oh, I'm sorry. He quickly stood. Won't you please sit down? Satine remembered that she still had sugar on her face. She rubbed it off quickly and hopefully unobtrusively as she sat. Christian gestured towards her face.   
  
You still have a little by your mouth. Was he laughing at her? His blue eyes seemed to sparkle with mirth. Satine tried to find it, vigorously wiping her face off.   
  
Did I catch it?   
  
he hesitated. Did he dare? Let me. Satine held her breath as he gently touched the corner of her mouth and took the sugar off. She felt a shock run through her as his fingertips brushed her face.   
  
she breathed, trying to get her heart to calm down. So . . . so what brings you here this morning? Christian glanced down at his hat with an apologetic smile.   
  
Writing, actually. Or trying to, he finished with a brief scowl. Satine opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a chilly drop of rain on her nose.   
  
Oh, no, she said, both dismayed and relived at the same time. It's starting to rain.   
  
There's a shed! Christian took her hand and pulled her up. Over here. You'll never make it home in time, he added, trying to maintain the friendly facade in spite of himself. Satine let him pull her towards the ramshackle shed. Home. . .   
  
The rain broke out in full force just as Christian pulled the door shut. Satine laid her hat down with a sigh and peered out through the cracks at the steady drops of rain.   
  
Looks like we'll be here for a while.   
  
Yes, it does, Christian said cautiously, pulling up a block for her to sit down on. His hand rested briefly on hers and she bit her lower lip in an effort to not say anything.   
  
So tell me, Satine said desperately. Where did you get the inspiration for the play? Have you ever been to Paris? Christian shook his head.   
  
No. . . but I almost went once. I was going to travel to Montmartre, but my family. . . my family needed me here. My father was afraid I'd end up at the Moulin Rouge with a can-can dancer, he finished with a laugh that was tempered with a sigh.   
  
Maybe you would have, Satine said lightly. Strange, how close he would have come to her. . .  
  
Maybe. But I suppose the play's just my fantasy of what would have happened if I had traveled to Paris. And your character. . . Camille. . . I suppose she's the kind of woman I always dreamed I would fall in love with.   
  
A French singer? Satine raised an eyebrow.   
  
He glanced out a large crack in the wall to where the rain was steadily falling. In the rain. . . excuse me for a minute, won't you? Satine looked at him, puzzled.   
  
Of course, she said gracefully as he pulled out a small notebook and scribbled a few sentences down. What are you writing?   
  
Just an idea for a poem. Satine tilted her head.   
  
May I see? He straightened and stared at her, his eyes softening as he did so.   
  
Of. . . of course. He handed her the book. It's just an idea.   
  
In the rain, the pavement shines like silver. All the lights are misty in the river. . . in the darkness, the trees are full of starlight. . . Satine read quietly.   
  
Do you really like it?   
  
Yes. . . let me know when you finish it. I want to read the rest.   
  
Satine, I--   
  
Yes? She took another step closer to him. Her name sounded so wonderful coming from his lips.   
  
I just wanted to--  
  
The world seemed to be spinning by in a torrent of raindrops and light and music. He lifted her face a little, almost about to kiss her. . .   
  
Satine drew back from him abruptly with a shaky breath. What was she doing? The Duke-- just because he wasn't here didn't mean that she could dally with anyone. She quickly picked up her hat and gestured out at the park.   
  
The rain's stopped. Christian's face fell at her words.   
  
  
  
I'll see you at rehearsal, then.   
  
Yes. . . yes, I'll see you. He opened the door for her. Until then, Miss Satine.   
  
Satine whispered as she glanced back. He was still standing there in the doorway, his face thoughtful. Until then.   
  
~-~-  
Author's Note: Don't own them. Wish I did.   
  
Songs used:  
Your Song  
Christian's poem is taken from On My Own from Les Miserables 


	7. Will You Dance?

Chapter VI: Will You Dance?  
  
Satine ignored Warner as she walked up the stairs of the Day's huge home, her velvet skirt trailing behind her. Her stomach was continually tightening in her stomach as she tried not to think of the young writer. Certainly he would be here, but he would probably spend the whole evening being fussed over by one Rose Woodhouse. Satine had spent three rehearsals in that woman's company and had no desire to see any more of her for the rest of her life. She was ostensibly quiet and sweet, but the facade dropped when it came to Satine, who she obviously considered to be a common whore.   
  
Christian seemed oblivious to Rose's attempts to gain his affection, and spent his energy on Satine. Satine felt a small blush creep up her neck as she remembered him at rehearsals. Other men in the cast bowed and scraped when she was looking and cast lustful looks behind her back, but Christian went out of his way to play the charming knight. He brought her refreshments, opened the doors, and simply talked to her. His beautiful eyes watched her every movement, but somehow it didn't bother her. His glance wasn't possessive. He gave and gave and never expected anything in return, content to just add to her life.   
  
Ah, Miss Claudel, how good of you to come! the plump director bowed to her and his wife followed suit with an awkward curtsy. Satine couldn't help it-- she smiled, a warm, genuine smile that lit up her entire face.   
  
Thank you, she said, handing her fur stole over to the nearest servant, revealing the heavy diamond necklace she wore. She heard Mrs. Day give a brief gasp, and Satine couldn't resist tracing a finger along the edge of jewels. Her diamonds, the diamonds the Duke had given her during the opening night of Spectacular Spectacular. They were magnificent. But the necklace always lay cold against her skin, as if reminding her that this gift was conditional. Like everything else the Duke had given her.   
  
Satine turned and gave Warner a glare, which he faithfully ignored. He had been insisting on accompanying her everywhere she went, and by now, she was thoroughly annoyed by his constant presence. She wondered viciously if this was the Duke's way of keeping track of her. Satine sighed as Warner held out his arm expectantly. If he thought she was going to dance attendance on him the entire evening, he was mistaken.   
  
Excuse me, please, won't you, she murmured to Warner. I need to go to the powder room for a few minutes and check my hair. The big man studied her for a moment and then nodded reluctantly.   
  
Very well, Mademoiselle. I will be waiting by the punch table for you.   
  
Thank you, Satine said, seething underneath her bright smile. She walked briskly off towards the direction of the ladies room. Once in the shadows of the hall, she ducked out onto a small balcony. She took a deep breath of the perfumed evening air and sank down onto a bench. She was nearly hidden by the darkened shadow of the tree, and on a whim, she reached back and unclasped the necklace she wore. Satine sighed with relief as the jewels released their hold on her. She tossed them onto the bench beside her and closed her eyes.   
  
She was startled by another presence entering. She drew a little deeper into the comforting darkness, hoping that it wasn't Warner on a fishing expedition already. It was a little soon for that. Satine tilted her head, studying the profile of the man that stood with his back to her. He sighed and looked down, and she realized it was Christian.   
  
she said. She winced. Why on earth had she spoken to him? Chances were that he wouldn't have even noticed her. Satine reluctantly admitted to herself that she wanted him to notice her-- wanted to spend time with him. She liked him. Christian turned to her, a wide smile appearing on his face, and Satine felt small flutter in her spirits. She liked him very much.   
  
She rose and walked over to greet him, unaccountably delighted by the way he pronounced her name. He usually called her Mademoiselle, but at times when she startled him, or in the midst of a conversation, he would forget the title. Her name fell like poetry from his lips, as if he treasured it. Christian bowed over her hand and kissed it, so gently that she could barely detect the warm pressure of his lips on her fingers. Satine flushed, suddenly very grateful for the dim lighting.   
  
What are you doing out here? she asked him. Christian shrugged, a little embarrassed.   
  
I wanted to. . . well, see a little less of a few people. Satine barely suppressed her laugh.   
  
Rose has gotten to you that much?  
  
Well, yes, Christian admitted simply. She's a very nice girl, but I don't enjoy her company as much as. . . others. There was that look again, that gaze that was almost a caress in itself! Satine set her jaw. She would not allow herself to be affected by it.   
  
What about you? Christian's eyebrows drew together as he caught sight of her diamonds lying abandoned on the bench. Satine laughed a little.   
  
Oh, I'm avoiding Warner.   
  
Christian said, his opinion of the manservant coming through his tone. Want help? Satine hesitated and then disregarded caution. She wanted to spend time with him. He brought a smile to her face just through his presence.   
  
Certainly. Let's go for a walk. She took his arm and tugged him towards the maze of hedges. Christian looked back at the bench.  
  
What about your necklace? Do you want me to carry it?   
  
Thank you, Satine said softly. Her eyelashes descended onto her cheek for a moment and her lips curved up in a small smile. Christian was immediately enchanted.   
  
The garden was strangely quiet in the twilight, broken only by faint strands of conversation and music from the house. The sky was a velvety blue and gold, rapidly softening towards night. They wandered through the maze arm in arm, not speaking. Christian cast a shy look over at Satine. A faint colour had appeared in her marble face, and she seemed alive and vivid here. Not the porcelain doll she showed to the rest of the world, but just Satine. He looked down at the diamonds in his hand and sighed. They were beautiful, but Christian was wise enough to recognize a collar when he saw one.   
  
Oh, look. Satine's voice was slightly breathless, and she stopped walking. Christian looked out at the small fountain and rose garden that they had walked into. It was surrounded by an ornate fence, and he guessed that the next estate started over there. He could hear conversation from there, but it quickly faded when the music started. The soft swell of violins cascaded over into the rose garden, and he set the necklace down on a trim square of grass.   
  
Will you do me the honor, my lady? He extended his hand out to her, hoping. . . Satine's hand hesitantly rested in his, and he drew her closer to begin their waltz.   
  
Neither of them spoke for the dance. Satine tightened her hold on his shoulder as they moved together. She knew she was playing with a deadly flame, but all protests were silenced by Christian's hand on her waist. On a whim, she rested her head on his shoulder, warmth and security rushing over her.   
  
Christian started at Satine's movement. A shot of joy went through him, and he dropped a light kiss on her hair. The moon was out now, gilding everything with a pale silver light. The water rose and fell in the fountain, echoing their dance.   
  
Eventually the music drew to a close, and Satine raised her head and looked into Christian's eyes. His hand brushed her cheek tenderly, and then dropped to hold her waist loosely. Satine lifted her face, a dizzy feeling of euphoria running through her veins. Their lips met, timidly at first, but as she wrapped her arms around him, their kiss deepened. Christian closed his eyes. Satine's scent was intoxicating, and the taste of her mouth was the sweetest he could ever dream of.   
  
After a few moments, they both stepped back, uncertain of what to say. It was Satine who broke the silence.   
  
Will you meet at the park at midnight?   
  
Christian breathed.   
  
I'll be waiting for you there. She turned to hurry back, picking up her necklace as she did so.  
  
Christian called. Perhaps he shouldn't say anything, but the words came out of him before he could think. Satine turned to face him, her eyes shining in the moonlight. A shy smile graced her face and Christian wanted nothing more than to keep it there for the rest of her days.  
  
  
  
I never knew I could feel like this, he said quietly. It's like I've never seen the sky before.   
  
Satine felt the first glimmer of tears appear in her eyes. She was so happy that her heart ached with the unaccustomed joy of it. This was heavenly-- like tasting ambrosia for the soul, all delicate and wonderful. Something she had thought was for angels alone.   
  
she said, the longing in her heart transmitting to her voice. Nor did I. She desperately wanted to go back into his embrace, but instead she forced herself to refasten the clasp on her necklace. Remember. Midnight.   
  
I'll be there. 


	8. Through Your Eyes

Chapter VII: Through Your Eyes  
  
Satine tossed her necklace into the jewelry box and snapped it shut, not even pausing to admire how they glittered against the velvet background. She carefully arranged her pillows to make them appear like her sleeping form, and finished dressing. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, at the wide smile that she couldn't contain, and hugged herself tightly. She was being a fool, but somehow that didn't matter. Not here. Not now.   
  
And she had promised to meet in him in the park in just a half hour. For the first time in her life, Satine had thrown her misgivings away and followed the demands of her heart. Her smile faded as she realized what she had unleashed. Christian would doubtlessly be head over heels for her, and she-- she could not fall in love with him. She couldn't give herself like that. She had to have something tangible given in return.   
  
Satine's shoulders sank down and her stomach tightened. The key was being turned again, just enough so she could hear the siren song of freedom. But it wasn't enough. It would never been enough. Her intellect pointed out the thousand worries about getting involved with him. What if the Duke found out she'd been having a fling while he was gone? Did Christian even know the full extent of her relationship with the Duke?   
  
He can't know, Satine said, a little bitterly. He can't. Her hand paused on the doorknob. Her mind knew that she shouldn't go. She should stay here, and just throw Christian an apologetic smile tomorrow. Her heart told her otherwise.   
  
_I only know when he  
Began to dance with me  
I could have danced. . .  
All night. . .  
  
_Satine recalled the strange feeling of flying that came over her whenever Christian held her in his arms. The sweetness of his kiss, the way his breath rose and fell in his chest. The soft fall of black hair over his forehead and his gentle blue eyes. The doorknob turned into her hand, and Satine crept down the hall, careful to keep from stepping on any of the noisy spots on the floor. She would be there in the park. And if he never came. . . then so be it.   
  
Christian sat on the bench, blowing softly on his hands to keep them warm. He wondered briefly what time it was. He had been waiting here for the past half hour. He knew that she had promised to come at midnight, but he couldn't help hoping that she would come earlier.   
  
This all seemed so unreal. The happiness he felt couldn't be possible on earth. He was in love.   
  
Oh, he'd heard the rumors about Satine and the Duke, and seen the sideways glances directed at her. But he'd also seen the look in Satine's eyes that told him there was more to her story than what appeared. And he loved her. Loved her with every ounce of his soul. That stolen kiss in the garden had sent fire through him. He knew in his heart that he was meant to love her.   
  
The words were spoken in a whisper, but he knew her voice. A little shy and hesitant now, but still so sweet and beautiful.  
  
  
  
Christian, I-- She was stopped the warm pressure of his hand on hers.   
  
Wait. I want to show you something. He led her through the small grove of trees that the park held and into the very center of it. Satine gave a soft gasp. A circle of pines surrounded the sanctuary that Christian brought her into. The floor was mossy and filled with tiny blue flowers. The inky blackness of the branches bled into the starry sky, and a pale beam of moonlight hit the very center of the circle, illuminating it. It looked, Satine suddenly realized, exactly like what she had always imagined a fairy's home to be. She glanced over at Christian. His face was lit by the muted tones of the night, and he looked beautiful. His face was soft and tender, and his eyes were filled with a mystery that she longed to reveal.   
  
Is this where you write poetry? she asked. She rested a hand on his arm, a thrill running through at just touching him. Christian turned to her, a joyous smile in his blue eyes.   
  
he said, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand as he spoke. But tonight it's just for you. He impulsively kissed her forehead, and she flushed.   
  
Then write me a poem, Christian, Her voice was soft, but charged with passion. She could feel her hands trembling a little, and wondered at the strange sort of fear that came over her. She'd never felt like this before. It was all at once crazy and beautiful, and she didn't understand it. Her song came out of some untapped spring in her soul, and it came to her lips as she traced the counters of Christian's face with her eyes.   
  
_Look at the sky, tell me what do you see  
Just close your eyes and describe it to me.   
  
_ Christian understood what she was asking. He reached out for her hand, amazed at how it fit so easily into his. Her slim fingers were cold, but they warmed up as he pressed a kiss to the tip of each one. Such beautiful hands and so small in comparison to his! He answered her in song, promising her that she could be his eyes, his muse, his Satine.   
  
_The heavens are sparkling with starlight tonight,  
That's what I see through your eyes.  
I see the heavens each time that you smile,  
I hear your heartbeat just go on for miles.  
  
_Satine shuddered as the words wrapped themselves around her heart with a tender, bold intimacy. How could poetry whisper the eternal secrets of all that was immortal like that? Through the voice of one boy, she saw the real reason for living. Beauty, truth, freedom, love. Wasn't that the creed of the Bohemians?   
  
_And suddenly I know why life is worthwhile  
That's what I see through your eyes._  
  
Christian took his coat off and wrapped her in it. She closed her eyes, drinking in the warmth of him. That steady, tender scent of his surrounded her, filling her with his presence. She loved him. The realization came as no surprise to her in the moonlight. She loved him for the way his black hair fell on his forehead. She loved the kissable dent in his chin, and she loved the way his voice softened when he spoke to her. She loved him for everything he was and everything he would be, but most of all, she loved him simply because it came to her like breath. She had to.   
  
_Here in the night, I see the sun,  
Here in the dark, our two hearts are one,  
It's out of our hands, we can't stop what we have begun.  
And love just took me by surprise,  
Looking through your eyes.  
  
_Christian felt lost and found all in the same moment. He'd never found anyone who could reach that part of him that he kept hidden from the world, but Satine revealed it all in a single glance. Love. . . yes, love was truly the greatest thing you'd ever learn in this life. It made you whole, filled the loneliness in your heart.   
  
_I look at myself, and instead I see us  
Where ever I am now, it feels like enough.   
  
_Satine felt all her worries slide away. They weren't important. Christian would help her and show her the way to happiness. If love could bring her here, then love could take her anywhere. It was a leap of faith, but she wasn't afraid to make it with Christian-- her Christian-- by her side.   
  
_And I see a girl who is learning to trust,  
That's who I see through your eyes._  
  
Satine slipped into his embrace. She wanted to stay here until the end of time, safe and loved. All the pent-up emotion that she had buried for all these years spilled out now, and tears filled her eyes. Christian wrapped his arms around her as she leaned her head against his chest. Why love, now? She wondered briefly about the time, why love had chosen to come to her in this moment. It didn't matter, she decided. All that mattered was that she was here, underneath the velvet sky, with him.   
  
_And there are some things we don't know,  
Sometimes a heart just needs to go.  
And there is so much that I remember,  
Underneath the open sky, with you forever.  
  
_They sank down onto the mossy floor together, still in each other's arms as they sang softly. They would sleep here tonight, with a pillow of blossoms and wake with the sheen of morning dew on them both. Satine put both her arms around Christian and kissed him deeply, tasting his breath, her lips moving against his. He drew back a little and touched the hollow at the base of her throat wonderingly. His hand curled back and he bit his lower lip.   
  
Satine-- I don't want to hurt you or-- this could lead to the wrong things-- Satine stared at him in amazement. Never had a man paused to think of the consequences of a night with her. Married men with children had come to her bed, never considering what the cost would be to their families. But Christian, who had nothing to lose, and everything to win, had thought of her first.   
  
I know, Satine said softly. This was not the right time or place. This was a place of dreams, not realities. Dreams and only dreams. . . But stay here with me, please.   
  
I'll stay here with you forever, Satine.   
  
Christian kissed her hair lightly and laid his coat down for her to lie on. She settled down, feeling the rhythm of his breath against her back. He sang her to sleep, gently running a hand along her arm as she sank into the peaceful darkness of sleep.   
  
_Here in the night, I see the sun  
Here in the dark our two hearts are one  
It's out of our hands, we can't stop what we have begun  
And love just took me by surprise  
Looking through your eyes . . .  
Looking through your eyes.  
  
_Love you, Christian whispered before he joined her in sleep. Till the end of time.   
  
  
  
  
Author's Note: Well, this was shameless fluff. My muse is not being up to scratch lately, but at least this didn't end up too badly. Hope you enjoyed it. . . if you did, please leave a review! Constructive criticsm will be very much appreciated. Don't worry. I can take it. :)  
  
BTW, this is a totally a/u fic in which Satine is not sick at all. Sorry for not making that clear earlier, but it was just a given in my mind. Tells you what happens when I spend a bit too much time talking to myself, eh?   
  



	9. Unexpected Song

Chapter VIII: Unexpected Song  
  
But that's terrible! Satine said laughingly, leaning her head against the curtain. She and Christian were sitting in the loft of the theatre, although he was supposedly at home with a headache and she was out on a walk. The only disadvantage of this as a meeting spot was the drop in temperature that accompanied the rise in altitude. She sat bundled up in two shawls while Christian ran all over the room, acting out the play for her as he had pictured it.   
  
Christian replied, grinning mischievously. His hair fell against his forehead as he leaned against a pillar. But then Christopher--  
  
Projecting a little of yourself into the story, dear?  
  
Christian continued, refusing to be drawn into the argument. Tells Blanche that he could never love her because although Camille has betrayed him, his heart belongs with her.   
  
Why don't you tell our beloved actress who plays Blanche that? Satine grumbled. If she had to witness another one-sided flirtation from Rose, she was going to scream. The only thing she was grateful for was her apparent blindness to anything between Christian and Satine. She didn't doubt for a moment that Rose could wreck plenty of havoc if she so chose. Christian drew himself up, looking offended.   
  
Do you want to hear this or not, Satine?  
  
Yes, please, Satine replied mock-seriously, sitting up straight. Her mouth twitched and she laughed at his hurt expression. Christian stayed stoic for a moment longer before chuckling with her. He sat down by her and drew her close to him. Satine let out a sleepy sigh and leaned her head on his shoulder. Christian lifted her hand, studying it.   
  
You have beautiful hands, Satine. His thumb ran gently over her fingers, memorizing the smooth feeling of her skin and the glassy texture of her nails. He kissed her hand lightly and then raised his head to look at her.   
  
Satine froze. His voice had changed from loving reverence to a quiet curiosity. He was going to ask about the Duke and what she had done before meeting him. She had been dreading this moment for the past few days, knowing that somehow the truth would come to haunt her. Her body stiffened in Christian's arms and she bit her lower lip.   
  
she asked, her voice low and melodious with the sadness that rushed over her. The dream would end here and now. . . she knew she should tell him she had been a courtesan, that it wasn't just the Duke she had sold her love to. And he would leave her then. She couldn't ask him to understand that things were different now. So very different now that Christian had entered her world.   
  
I think Camille needs to sing a song after she falls in love with Christopher, but I can't think of anything. Can you?   
  
Satine stared at him, momentarily stunned into silence. Didn't he-- wasn't he even going to ask? Or was he just going to give his heart to her, no questions asked?   
  
  
  
Satine searched his face. He was going to. He loved her. Loved her!  
  
It was then that Satine felt a change in her heart begin to take place. Before she had known that when the Duke came back, she would have to say goodbye to Christian and regretfully return to her former life. She would be gentle but firm with him, explaining that there were things more important than love in this world. But now. . .  
  
Do you have any ideas for a song? Satine brought herself back to the moment with a determined shake of her head.   
  
Uh. . . yes. I do, actually. She stared out at the London skyline, so different from the horizon of Paris. Like Christian. Christian came up behind and rested his hand gently on her shoulder.   
  
What is it? Satine took a deep breath and opened her mouth, willing to let all of her hope and puzzled joy to escape through her voice. It was time to tell someone what was in her heart. And who better to tell than the man. . . the man she loved. Satine smiled to herself. It was true. She loved him. Loved him as though she'd never dreamed she could love anyone.   
  
_I have never felt like this  
For once I'm lost for words  
Your smile has really thrown me.  
  
_She turned to face Christian then. His face lit up with a warm smile that sent thrills through her. That sweet, boyish grin that expressed every bit of his love of life. And her.   
  
_This is not like me at all  
I never thought I'd know  
The kind of love you've shown me. _  
  
She was not the Sparkling Diamond any longer. Nor was she Mademoiselle Claudel, the beautiful young actress that was little more than an accessory to the Duke. She was Satine.   
  
_Now, no matter where I am,  
No matter what I do,  
I see your face so clearly.  
Like an unexpected song  
An unexpected song  
That only we are hearing.   
  
_An unexpected song. That was what Christian was to her. The poet who had come into her life singing the song she'd never thought existed. She'd loved him with the first note he'd sung, although she hadn't realized it then. His gift from the gods was his song, and he'd chosen to bless her with it. He was always with her now, even if they were in separate houses. She kept images of him in her heart, so all she had to was reach within herself and see Christian smiling before her.   
  
_I don't know what's going on,  
Can't work it out at all,  
Whatever made you choose me?  
  
_These past few days had been a beautiful whirlwind to Satine. She was so happy! But almost frightened, in the way that she couldn't understand. She was afraid that this perfect joy would be snatched away from her before she had a chance to unfold in its golden light. She was determined to make the most of every precious moment with Christian. Her Christian. Satine explored the words through her mind.   
_  
I just can't believe my eyes,  
You look at me as though  
You couldn't bear to lose me.  
  
_For that was how he watched her. She was something special to him. Not just a prize, not simply a beautiful toy to be thrown away at the end of the night. He loved her in the warm light of day as well in the velvety blackness of the night. Did he know what a gift it was to her? Probably not. . . but that made it all the more wonderful.   
  
_Now, no matter where I am  
No matter what I do  
I see your face so clearly  
Like an unexpected song  
An unexpected song  
That only we are hearing  
Like an unexpected song  
An unexpected song  
That only we are hearing!   
  
_Her voice rose, building with the melody she imagined in her mind. As her voice softened into silence, she raised her face to Christian's. He kissed her, and she kissed him back, deeply. She wrapped her arms around him, her shawls falling forgotten to the floor. Here in his warmth, she would be safe.   
  
Always.   
  
  
~-~  
Ah, yes, another chapter. Please review-- my eternal thanks and good wishes to those who have. You brighten my day and make me that much more interested in the story! Thank you!  
  
Songs used:  
Unexpected Song-- Song and Dance, Andrew Lloyd Webber  
and in the previous chapter, Through Your Eyes by LeAnn Rimes


	10. A Jealous Friend

Chapter IX: A Jealous Friend  
  
Oh, Miss Claudel, how good of you to come! Ah. Mr. Warner. Paul Day's tone abruptly switched from a fawning into a cold civility as he caught sight of her companion. Satine wondered briefly if there was anyone in the world besides the Duke who actually liked his manservant. It was doubtful. Good of you to come.   
  
Thank you, Warner said, either missing the change in voice or ignoring it. Satine, if you'll allow me. It was never a question, Satine reflected wryly as she let him take her furs. It was more a veiled command than anything. She swiftly ducked Warner and took the director's arm, leaving her content with a woman who was nearly his size. They would make a nice couple, Satine reflected mischievously as she entered the dining room. Will Jones, her co-star, sent her a polite nod. He was wonderful on stage, but utterly boring off of it, she thought wryly.   
  
The room was lit with the gentle glow of candlelight rather than the dazzling electrical lamps, but she didn't mind. Satine actually liked the old-fashioned illumination. It softened the harsh edges of objects and faces and reminded her of times that were easier. Before the Moulin Rouge had fallen on hard time, when life was simple. But emptier, she thought ruefully, searching the room with her eyes. Love changed everything for her. She'd found the innocence she'd lost, and the hope she'd never had. All in the eyes of an enchanted boy.   
  
And there he was. He stood there next to the window, staring out at the London sky. The warmth of the sunset outside lit up with face, and a small smile danced about his mouth. Satine felt a sudden, terrible rush of longing. It wasn't enough. The stolen kisses and conversation they snatched in between rehearsals didn't even begin to pacify her hunger to be near him. She needed him now like she'd needed diamonds in her former life. But those jewels had turned to ashes in the flame of their love.   
  
She loved him so much, with every part of her mind, soul, and body. And they belonged to each other. Christian and Satine. How she would ever be able to let him go when the Duke returned, she didn't know.   
  
With an effort, Satine shoved that thought away. She didn't want to wonder about the future now. She just wanted to drift in the happiness that kept a smile on her face day and night. She was able to see the beauty in the smallest things now. A flower petal drifting on a pond, or a soft breeze rushing through the curtains.   
  
Christian watched the sky fade from glory, his hand bracing him against the window frame. Oh, how he missed her when she wasn't with him. He'd written about love, read about it, seen other people in love, but never before had he felt it. Now, though, everything was different. He no longer wondered why Shakespeare could compare his love to a summer's day. What had once seemed to be over-inflated rhetoric was now understatements. Satine was part of him. She not only had his heart, she was his heart.   
  
Monsieur Everett? Her voice startled him out of his reverie. He turned, the joy at seeing her clouding his mind. She wore a lilac dress embroidered with white flowers, and a tiny white rose was tucked into her curls. Christian reflected that the angels in heaven could not be more beautiful than the woman he loved. He bent and kissed her hand gently, breathing in her perfume.   
  
Mademoiselle Claudel.   
  
Good of you to come, Monsieur. She sounded haughty, but her blue eyes sparkled mischievously at him. Christian inclined his head.   
  
The pleasure is all mine, Mademoiselle. Satine's eyelashes lowered demurely on her cheek for a moment, and then she raised a piquant eyebrow.   
  
All yours?  
  
I beg your pardon, Christian said hastily. Of course it is entirely yours.   
  
Rose's harsh English accent jarred on Christian's ears after hearing Satine's sweet, silvery tones. Won't you come and sit down! Christian's expression said exactly how much he liked that idea-- not at all-- but he bowed diplomatically and took his seat near Rose.   
  
Rose narrowed her cold blue eyes at Satine as she sat down across from her. Resentment burned in her soul as she studied the graceful wings of her eyebrows and the high cheekbones. Why, why did the woman have to be so beautiful! Christian's infatuation with Satine grew more obvious daily, and Rose Woodhouse did not appreciate it at all. What business had the writer admiring the lead actress when he had a perfectly good potential bride right in front of him! She knew about the Everetts. They were a respectable upper middle class family rapidly gaining in wealth day after day. New wealth, of course, but one couldn't have it all.   
  
But she couldn't have anything if Christian continued to make sheep's eyes at Satine! So the woman was pretty. She had some charming mannerisms, but that didn't change the fact that she was sleeping with the patron. Christian had to realize that! Rose set her jaw as the first course arrived.   
  
How is the Duke, Miss Claudel? Rose asked innocently after taking a small bite of her food. Satine's lips might have tightened at that, but her face was otherwise calm as she answered.   
  
I hear that he is enjoying China, Miss Woodhouse.   
  
Pity you couldn't have joined him there, Rose remarked, deliberately keeping her tone benign.   
  
Pity we couldn't have all joined him there, Satine said lightly, willing her face to remain relaxed. At the moment, she wanted nothing more than to pour her wine over Rose's head. Satine's fingers itched to do just that, but she contented herself with viciously twisting her napkin in her lap.   
  
Oh, I think the Duke would enjoy your company _much more,_ Rose remarked, the hard edge finally coming into her words. Her meaning was not misunderstood by anyone at the table. Warner's conversation halted, Christian looked worried, and Mr. and Mrs. Day stared nervously at them. Even Will had an expression on his face. Satine took a deep breath. She was not going to let Rose win this game. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Christian cut in.  
  
I think anyone would enjoy Satine's company more than mine or even yours, Rose, he said lightly. I should think that hardly comes as a surprise-- not to reflect poorly on you, of course. Rose's face flushed and Satine allowed herself a tiny smirk. There. It was about time that someone told the little witch where she stood with Christian.   
  
Of course, Rose said slowly after a long moment. She studied Christian's face carefully until her gaze drifted over to Satine. The intelligent light in her eyes was brightened by the sudden influx of knowledge. How silly of me. Her face hardened, robbing her of her beauty. She pressed a finger to her cheekbone, her glare fixed on Satine. Very silly. Satine swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her stomach and tried to stare down those eyes filled with venom.   
  
I wouldn't worry about it, Satine laughed weakly as Rose looked away. She twisted her napkin again, wishing she could have some water help her suddenly dry mouth. Christian was beginning to be a little pale as well and she could tell that he wanted to comfort her. Satine began silently praying that he would stay where he was. Please, Christian, don't. Not here.   
  
I don't, Rose said quickly, throwing her a forced smile. I don't suppose I could have some more wine-- ah, thank you. She took a sip of the ruby liquid and smiled. How's the wine, Mademoiselle Claudel?   
  
Satine said faintly. She took an unsteady breath, scolded herself for it, and threw a brilliant smile across the table at her co-star. Tell me, Will, are you familiar with the Portmeandeu style of acting?   
  
To some extent, Will answered quickly, glad as she was to return the table to normalcy. He tried to smile, but the Are you?  
  
Very much, Satine replied, playing with her fork and ignoring Christian's earnest looks in her direction. Fear still held her securely in its grip. If Rose managed to get some wayward ideas through Warner's thick head, she would be in serious trouble. They'd been lucky thus far, but she wasn't going to take any chances. Not with Christian.   
  
A night full of benign conversation passed, and Christian couldn't help but feel a little nervous by Satine's continued focus on everyone at the table but him. He bit his lower lip and scowled at dessert. If only he and Satine could eat dinner alone together, without the prying eyes of the world focused on them! An idea began to formulate in Christian's head. Maybe they could. . .  
  
Satine surreptitiously fixed her eyes on Christian and sighed. Was this fair to him? To ask him to carry on a hidden romance, forbidden by her station and the ways of the world. She was a kept woman, not a pretty socialite. To have to frown at him when all she wanted to do was to laugh with him must take a toll on him as well as herself. She closed her eyes briefly. Oh, Christian, if only you knew how badly I want to be in your arms at this very moment, would you forgive me?   
  
she murmured to him at the end of the evening. I'm sorry, she mouthed as he kissed her hand. When she glanced into his eyes for a moment, she was surprised and a little intrigued by the sparkle in them. What was he up to?   
  
Till later, Mademoiselle, Christian said casually. At least, to anyone else he would sound casual. Satine raised an eyebrow at him. He definitely was up to something. The only question was what.   
  
Try as she might, Satine couldn't quite repress a feeling of excitement. Two bright spots burned on her cheeks, and it was hard to swallow her smile as she walked out to her automobile. Being in love was wonderful.   
  
A pair of cold blue eyes watched her from her from the shadows of the Day's garden as the automobile drove off. Rose Woodhouse might appear to be a quiet woman, but she had not risen to her position without cutthroat policies and a vicious sense of ambition. She wanted Christian Everett. And she was going to get him.   
  
~-~-  
Author's Note:  
  
I don't own em, don't make any money off of em.   
  
Please review! Lots of love to everyone who has. Reviewing really helps my incentive to write, if that helps any. . .:)  
  
Thanks to Celyn for help with this! 


	11. Dream to Dream

Chapter X: Dream to Dream  
  
Satine let her fingers trail absently down the dark wood of her vanity as she stared out at the faint lights of London outside her windows. The rest of the household had long since gone to bed. She'd been careful to keep only a single candle burning in case one of the maids decided to investigate an undue amount of light from Mademoiselle Claudel's room. She missed Paris desperately at night, where night was romanced with a glass of wine and taken to the dance floors of the Moulin. She was restless most nights, even after two years in the Duke's sterile splendor. An unaccountable part of her heart missed the sweet decadence of the life at the Moulin.   
  
For an instant, a vision of she and Christian flashed into her mind. The sparkling diamond and the penniless poet in the red room, singing a duet--   
  
_(You're going to be bad for business. I can tell)  
  
_but the idea passed as quickly as it came. Harold never would have allowed anything a flirtation to go on between the two of them, much less a relationship.   
  
_(We're creatures of the underworld. We can't afford to love)  
  
_If Harold could see her now, she was certain that his disapproval would be severe. Even she had had to endure long lectures on the evil of falling in love-- Satine, the star who had never so much as looked at a Bohemian in her life! She hid a smirk as she conjured up Harold's face in her mind's eye, but her smile quickly faded when she realized the truth of her private joke. Harold would have scolded her, and when he saw the depth of her feelings, his anger would have ripped away at her.   
  
_(The infatuation will end. Go to the boy. Tell him it's over)_  
  
Satine rose impatiently and paced the length of her room. She stopped by the largest window and, ignoring the sudden mist of tears that blurred her eyesight, stared fiercely at a passing cat. Wrapping her arms about her, Satine sank down onto the windowseat and put her fingertips on the window. Her reflection superimposed on the visage of London's quiet night.   
  
She had been so sure that he would come.  
  
He had made no promises to her, no vocal reassurance that he would come tonight. He'd only smiled meaningfully at her. Promising--  
  
_(You'll come? Tonight?)_  
  
But such things meant that he would come, and he knew it as well as she. Listen to me, Satine reflected ruefully. I sound like a lovesick schoolgirl, whining because her beau can't be troubled to stop by with a box of candy.   
  
In her heart, though, Satine knew that in this sting lay something deeper. Her entire love with Christian was formed on the unique trust that he loved her and would give her everything that his heart had to give. It was unfair to blame him for tonight, she knew. But if this could happen, could he also demand. . .things. . . that weren't hers to give? He'd been very good ever since the first tentative touch of their lips, receiving only what she chose to give him.   
  
But even that can't hold out much longer, a small voice grated at the edge of her consciousness. She'd been trained to deal with unseemly desire at the Moulin, but she knew that you could only hold a lit candle in your hand for so long before either extinguishing it or letting the fire leap into life. She had no desire to be burned by her own feelings.   
  
Satine turned away from the window and buried her face in her hands. What was she doing? Her entire career hung on this affair. She'd been very good for the past few years, ignoring the pointed glances that came from men handsomer than the Duke, men richer. She above all knew how fickle men's choices were, and whatever else could be said of the Duke, his infatuation with her was a fairly permanent one.   
  
Regardless of whatever affection the Duke held her in, though, he would not hesitate to ruthlessly cut the bonds between them if he caught sight of anything that might suggest infidelity. Before, she'd justified it to herself that with the Duke's pointed joke, that she was safe to flirt with him before company. Things were progressing too far for that she would be safe with that flimsy excuse any longer.   
  
_(The Duke is expecting you in the tower at eight) _  
  
Stop it, she said, calmly enough to believe it. Just stop it, Satine. It's gone too far this time.   
  
But memories of Christian were coming to her, thoughts of his voice and face. The sweet expressiveness of his hands as he caressed her cheek. The warm, insistent pressure of his lips on hers. His poetry, his music, his unfailing belief in love and in her. Who was she to do this to him? To rip away his first love would be as cruel an act as the disillusion she'd suffered, and just as hard to forgive. It would take away his innocence. How could she inflict her own pain on the man she loved just to keep her body in comfort?   
  
_(Hurt him. Hurt him to save him)_  
  
As if in a dream, she wandered over the window and blew out the candle burning there. She cast one more longing look at the street below, and then closed the heavy damask curtains. Slowly, she walked over to the mirror, her mind playing the old melancholy tune that had been so in vogue at the Moulin a few years before its renovation. She remembered the little can-can dancer who had sung it. What had her name been? Marguerite?   
  
Her little white face appeared unbidden in Satine's mind. The young girl had been left by some Bohemian to die from an unspeakable disease of the whores, and all the Dogs had (strangely) taken pity on the young girl, who wandered the halls with flowers in her stream of golden hair, crooning her strange little songs to whoever would listen.   
  
One song she sang constantly, letting her high-pitched voice ring out during rehearsals while the rest of them belted out the brassy tunes that the customers so loved. It was that song that came into Satine's mind, long after poor Marguerite was lain in the cold earth.   
  
_If I should die this very moment,  
I wouldn't fear.  
For I've never known completeness like being here.  
Wrapped in the warmth of you,  
Loving . . . .  
Every breath of you._  
  
In a sudden rage, she picked up the powders on her vanity and hurled them at the sofa. They did not shatter, but instead scattered the soft red over the creamy satin. Still furious, she continued to throw things-- kohl, lip rouge, cold cream. She gathered up the perfume bottles, hating the soft clink of glass in her arms, and poured them out on the rich fabric. The soft, pampered existence of the whore. The liquid mingled with the makeup as she threw her jewelry into the mix, sending rivulets of blood-red down the sides of the sofa and onto her clean diamonds.   
  
It wasn't fair! Her heart cried along with the silent twist of her lips. Her life had been stolen away from her from the price of a few francs, the same as a cheap whore and a warm bed at the Moulin. She'd lost any chance for life and love that her soul had ever owned. And for what? A chance to throw valuables silently at a beautiful piece of furniture, too afraid of talk if she was heard?   
  
_Why live life from dream to dream?  
And dread the day when dreaming. . .   
  
_Satine slid to the floor, her back against the cold wall, and wept. The sobs blinded her, threatened to choke her breath, and she covered her face with her hands, trying to escape into a place where no one could own her.   
  
she moaned softly, the noise guttural, from the base of her throat. She whimpered, and clutched the silk of her dressing gown, brutally tearing it with her fingernails. She cried again, harder and deeper, until no more words were possible, until her entire body was caught up in the act of mourning.  
  
Clara awoke from her little room off of Satine's, and pressed her hands to her mouth as she heard the broken sounds of tears from her mistress's room. Trying to ignore the sounds of utter helplessness, she stood and walked to her small window. She was slightly surprised by what she saw there-- a handsome young man, with a basket in his hand and a worried expression on his face. He glanced up again, towards her room-- or Miss Satine's, Clara realized abruptly-- and closed his eyes. The expression of puzzled heartbreak burned itself across her mind, and she bit back a sob of her own as the sounds from Miss Satine's room subsided and the man walked on. 


	12. One Cruel Joke

Chapter XI: One Cruel Joke  
  
This couldn't be true.   
  
It wasn't real.   
  
It couldn't. . .   
  
Rose said gently, reaching out to hold his hands. He flinched slightly at the chilly brush of her slender fingers in his, but didn't otherwise react. He was only dimly concious of the sharp dashes of rain and low pauses of thunder outside. The Duke's words kept repeating themselves, insinuating all the betrayl with their sardonic undertone. It couldn't be true. Satine would never do anything like that, not his Satine, not the woman he loved.  
  
The Duke told me the same thing at the railroad station. He seems to think. . . she flushed and trailed off. He searched her face for any sign of duplicity-- perhaps-- perhaps-- her pale face was sweet and open, touched only with worry for him. Nothing like the constant flicker of emotions that passed over _her _face before a declaration of love.   
  
It was true, then.   
  
It was a _joke,_ he whispered hoarsely. And not just that. It was all a lie, Rose.  
  
Rose began, her tone as gentle as a mother's, she might not have meant it that way. She might have really cared for you--  
  
She lied to me! Christian cried. He slammed his fist down on the table, ignoring Rose's nervous jump as the sound resonated through his room. She lied to me, Rose! Rose stood and turned away to the window.  
  
Christian. . .   
  
You don't lie to the people you love, Rose!  
  
Of course you don't. She turned to face him, her pale face alight with feeling. He noticed then, with a sudden sense of shame, how weary she looked. Were those violet shadows and that strange, liquid sense of her eyes indications of tears? _You_ don't, Christian, she said again. Her insinuation was all too clear. He stared at her, pain tearing away at his heart. His Satine would never do such a thing.   
  
She loves me, Rose.  
  
Rose's eyebrow arched delicately. Christian, I'm sorry, she whispered to the waiting air. His face softened in return, and it was all she could do to contain the shrewd smile that begged to pull on her lips. This was an unexpected stroke of luck.   
  
But what, Rose? His breath came quickly, pushing his doubts upon him. Surely she didn't mean-- she'd seen, hadn't she, how _loving _he and Satine were together?   
  
Do you really believe that? Her voice was warmer than he expected, rich chords of sympathy pleasantly deepening it. She sank onto the window-seat next to him and pressed her hand upon his.   
  
Yes--yes. . . of course I believe it.  
  
Rose said deliberately, gazing strictly into his eyes. She was a courtesan. They're paid, here she paused, emphasizing the word, to make men believe what they want to believe. I know you don't want to even think it--  
  
he whispered harshly. He tried to pull away from her slim hand, but the pressure didn't lighten.   
  
Everyone knows except for you, Rose said coolly. Why do you have to deny it, Christian?  
  
He stopped for a moment, his confused thoughts lighting on a single flash of hope. But the Duke-- I thought that she was just-- his-- his-- well, you know.   
  
Picked her out of the Moulin Rouge in Paris, Rose replied, her lip curling at the thought. One of the very best can-can girls, apparently. Fancied diamonds quite a bit. Enough to trade her-- she halted, but the disdain in her voice was still apparent when she spoke again. Kisses for the jewels, she spat, nearly snarling at the idea. So much for our high and mighty Mademoiselle Claudel. Mr. Day is quite put out.  
  
_(They called her the sparkling diamond)  
  
_The Moulin Rouge, Christian repeated blankly. This was absurd. Satine couldn't have been at the infamous nightclub. There was nothing coarse in her soul. She would rather have starved on the streets than sell her body. He knew it with every ounce of his heart. She believed in love above all things.   
  
The Moulin Rouge, Christian.  
  
It can't be true--  
  
The Duke _himself _is going around saying it! Seems to think it's rather amusing.   
  
Then I don't care.   
  
Rose's eyes narrowed, and she bit back a sharp reprimand. This line of argument wasn't going to get her anywhere.  
  
I do understand, she said softly. I just wonder. . . she hesitated and bit her lower lip. She turned to face the window so the pale light streamed past her profile. A sudden flash of lightening illuminated her delicate features, and she carefully supressed another smile. This isn't my business. I'm sure she loved you, Christian. How could she not?  
  
Christian smiled wanly up at her, but he didn't otherwise respond. She hesitated, then plunged into a riskier statement.  
  
I'm _sure,_ she said deliberately, that she had a _very _good reason for not confiding in you about the Moulin Rouge.  
  
Christian said softly, but his gaze was still focused absently on the storm outside.   
  
I'll go make you a cup of tea, she suggested, aware that her last words would fester better without her presence.   
  
Thank you, he said quietly. His head fell as she carefully stepped out of the room. A smile danced around her lips-- this was better and better!-- even as a tear slid down his cheek, unchecked.   
  
Why hadn't she told him?   
  
_So tell me, she'd asked, a strange light in her sea-deep eyes. She'd bitten her lower lip in consternation, and then, as if punishing herself for the action, raised her head. Where did you get the inspiration for the play? She'd studied him carefully before forming her next question. Have you ever been to Paris? He had shook his head as he replied.   
_  
_No. . . but I almost went once, he'd said innocently, and in his mind's eye he saw the almost imperceptible relaxation that came over her. I was going to travel to Montmartre, but my family. . . my family needed me here. My father was afraid I'd end up at the Moulin Rouge with a can-can dancer, he'd finished with a laugh tempered with a regretful sigh.  
  
Maybe you would have. . . Satine had said lightly. Her eyebrows had drawn together, and she'd stayed motionless for a long moment before changing the subject.  
  
_She'd lied to him. But. . .perhaps, he rationalized, wasn't it a lie that made perfect sense? Perhaps-- no, not perhaps, she _had_ changed since whatever life she'd led in the Moulin Rouge. Time had wrought upon her beliefs what deep sorrow and hope would have given her there.   
  
Could they save their love?   
  
Had she ever loved him, or was it just one cruel joke between an actress and her patron?   
  
With the same impulsive sense that sent his father into utter frustration, Christian reached into his desk for a few sheets of music. He'd written them in secret, pouring every aspect of his love for Satine into the simple words. He'd send them to her, ask her if she wished to change the ending. Then-- then-- he would know, if their love would burn on, come what may or. . .   
  
_(I'm staying with the Duke)_  
  
No, he wouldn't think about that.  
  
He lingered over the note longer than he should have, carefully pressing the nib of the pen into the paper, watching the ink flow in choreographed patterns across the page. Despite his best efforts, the letter was short and terse-- but surely she would forgive him that when she saw the song.   
  
_Dear Mademoiselle Claudel,  
I thought perhaps we might change the ending of the play to make it truer to life. Please read through this song and inform me what you think.  
  
Sincerely,  
Christian Everett  
  
_Rose entered at that moment, carefully balancing a tea tray loaded with his favorite foods.   
  
she said dryly as she set the tray down. Her gaze flicked over to the envelope he was busy sealing. Did you write her a letter? She forced a smile at the thought. she said, almost cheerfully. I'm certain that will repair things between you. Christian nodded and handed her the envelope, his face paling as he did so.   
  
Will you . . . he swallowed. Could you deliver it into her hands, Rose? I don't think Warner cares for me overmuch. His smile was a half-hearted attempt, although hers was perfectly genuine. This could be the triumph of her plan.   
  
_And the ruination of Christian's life, _the sudden and unexpected voice of conscience reminded her.  
  
_Good God, _another part of her snapped back. _She's a whore. And you, might I remind you, are rapidly failing as an actress. A husband who is both playwright and patron will be the salvation of you. We could even surpass Mademoiselle Claudel, couldn't we?   
  
_The thoughts fell silent as she took the envelope with a hopeful smile. She tucked it under her arm and raised the furred hood of her cloak, squeezing Christian's hand to reassure him. He took it and kissed it, and she had to hide another smile.   
  
I'll bring her answer as soon as I may, Christian.  
  
Thank you, he replied. He stepped back and wet his lips. I only hope that she will. . . his voice trailed off, and Rose could only nod and take her leave. 


End file.
